So this story is a response to another one of Lisa Boon's one-shots in her collection called We'll make up a story. It is a response to story #23, titled 'Camcorder.' I highly recommend you go and read it. You'll probably cry. I did. It's not a lot of words, but it makes all the difference. Anyway, this is me coping with that one-shot. I hope you all enjoy! P.S. I don't own the Monkees and I don't own Clue.
Part 1 ~ December 24th, 1976
To all of their surprise, there was a blizzard outside. The two families sat inside Marcia Jones's parents' cottage, trying to keep themselves occupied. The fire roared in the fireplace, and the four adults sat across from one another at the table, playing a game of 'Clue.' The two girls, Sarah Jones and Hallie Tork, were both upstairs, playing with their dolls and playing dress up.
"Man, it's really snowin' out there, isn't it?" Peter pointed out, looking out the sliding glass door that was considered the back door.
"I'm glad I'm not out there," Jan Tork praised. "Honey, it's your turn."
"Right," Peter said, looking at his chart and cards. "Ah, I say it was Mr. Mustard in the billiard room with the rope." He looked at his wife who shook her head. However, Davy handed him a card. Peter took a look at it before handing it back to Davy and making marks on his chart.
"It's pretty though, isn't it?" Marica said, turning in her seat to look at the wild storm nature had given them. She then turned back in her chair. "I say it might be Professor Plum in the billiard room with the rope." This time Peter handed her a card.
"Yeah…" Davy said, getting lost in the swirling snowflakes and movement of the trees. "The girls don't know what they're missing. I'd say we could take them out there, but it's too cold. Didn't the thermometer say it was nearly 10 degrees out?"
"Yeah, it did," Jan said, "Your turn, Jones."
"Ah," Davy said. All of their pieces were in the billiard room. "I'd say it was Scarlet in the billiard room with the candlestick."
No one could disprove him. He nervously took the small envelope with the answers and opened it. He smiled when he saw that he was right. "Game over!" He showed the cards to the others. The women rolled their eyes and Peter sat there, confused.
"What?! I could have SWORN it was with the rope!" Peter said, rubbing his head.
"I guess you'll just have to learn how to pay attention," Davy laughed.
"Hey guys?" Jan said, stopping their bickering. "Was that there before?" They all looked towards the sliding door to see two dark shadows in the distance.
"No, no it was not," Peter said. They all stared at the figures, who suddenly collapsed. When they fell, Peter quickly looked at Davy. "Should we go help them?" Davy nodded and they both got up to get their winter gear on.
"Girls, get some soup ready for them or something, they might be in trouble," Davy said throwing on his big winter jacket. The girls nodded and made their way into the kitchen.
Davy and Peter, all decked out in giant winter coats and wool hats, looked at each other for a moment, making sure they wore everything. Peter flicked the ball on top of Davy's head for good luck, as was tradition, whether Davy liked it or not. He didn't. He scowled at Peter as the taller man opened the sliding door, shoving Davy out the door and following him out. He shut the door to prevent heat from escaping the house before venturing on. By this point, the snow had reached their calves, making it hard to walk in the snow. As quickly as they could, they marched out towards the figures who had fallen in the snow.
"My God…" Peter said once they made it to the two men. "They look awful! They're going to die out here!"
The bodies were nearly white with a coat of snow. They wore only jeans and light jackets, plus ratty old tennis shoes. The clothes they did wear practically hung off their bodies. Peter and Davy picked a man and picked them up, surprised at how light they were. They both were able to carry the men bridal-style. One thing was for sure, though, even through the immense cold, the healthy men could smell the rank odor that came from the men they were trying to save. Both men had large, tangled beards, complimented by longer-than-normal hair. Dirt and burn was obvious on their skin, and they looked like Grade-A hobos. Nevertheless, Davy and Peter felt obligated to help them. No one wants to die in the cold hell that is winter.
When they made it back to the house, Peter knocked on the sliding glass door with his body. Jan opened the door, letting the two men in. Once Davy was in, she shut and locked the glass door. Peter and Davy immediately made their way to the living room, where the fire was hotter than ever. Davy sat his man on one couch, while Peter sat his on the other.
"I wonder what they were doing out there," Davy said, backing up. "Who would be crazy enough to go wandering out here in this weather?"
"Maybe they didn't have a choice," Peter sighed. "Come on, let's go get them some blankets."
"Done and done," Marcia smiled, running down the stairs, her arms filled with blankets. "Got some for you two, as well."
"Thanks sweetie," Davy said, kissing her and taking the blankets. Peter took some from her arms and they began to wrap the men up in the blankets, hoping it would help them recover.
"Should we call an ambulance or something?" Jan asked from the stove.
"I don't know," Peter said as he and Davy sat down at the table, Marcia putting two mugs of coffee in front of them. "It's not dire, yet. I think we should refrain from that until we need to."
"I agree. There's something about those two, but I can't put my finger on it." Davy said, taking a sip.
Meanwhile, Sarah and Hallie had decided to come downstairs to bug their parents. They quietly tiptoed down the stairs. They were ready to head into the kitchen when they noticed the two bodies lying on the couch.
"Who are they?" Sarah asked Hallie.
"I don't know," Hallie replied quietly. "Let's go see."
"Okay," Sarah followed Hallie towards the men, both girls being careful. Sarah scrunched up her nose. "They smell!"
"Not so loud!" Hallie whispered. "We don't want to hurt their feelings!"
"Oh, right."
Suddenly, one of the men groaned. The girls froze, but watched intently as the man began to wake up. He gave a longer groan and rolled onto his side. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see that he was inside a building. He was even more surprised to see the two little girls watching him.
"Hi," The man said shyly, waving at the girls. "Where am I?"
"In my grandparent's cottage," Sarah said confidently. "I'm Sarah."
"I'm Hallie," Hallie said confidently as well. "What's your name?"
"My friend calls me George," the man smiled at the two little girls.
"George?!" The little girls asked. "What kind of name is that?"
George laughed. "It's a stupid name, I know, but it's the only name I know. If I had another I would happily take it."
"We can give you a new name!" Sarah chirped happily. "Daddy always tells stories about these two friends of his, you can have one of their names."
"You'll do that for me?" George asked, sitting up, but not letting go of the blanket wrapped around him. He was grateful to be warm again, even though he still felt ungodly cold.
"Of course, now let's see… Hallie, which one should we give him? Mike or Micky?"
"Don't give me Mike," George smiled. "That's my friend's name."
The trio was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of Sarah's dad. "Sarah! Hallie! When did you two get down here?"
"A few minutes ago, we've been talking to George," Sarah said to her father. "Daddy, he wants a new name, so Hallie and I are going to give him a new name."
"I don't think that's how names work, honey," Davy said.
"I don't mind, really," George said, scratching his beard. "I really don't like my name. I'm lucky I even know my first name. My license was burned in this car accident that happened years ago, and the only evidence of my identity we could find was my license. It said my name was George, but I couldn't make out anything else."
"You were in a car accident?" Davy asked.
"Many years ago. My friend and I lost our memory. The only things we know about ourselves is what we were able to scavenge from the wreckage." George shivered at the sudden chill that came over him.
"Daddy, can Hallie and I give him a new name?" Sarah asked.
Davy rolled his eyes. "Sure, Sarah."
"Alright, Mr. George, your new name is Micky!" Sarah beamed.
"Micky?!" Davy choked.
"Yeah Uncle Davy, we named him after your friend you tell us stories about," Hallie explained. "George said we couldn't name him Mike because that's that guy's name." Hallie pointed at the other man for effect.
"I like it, thanks girls!" George laughed. "Micky. Sounds a lot better than George."
Davy paled, studying 'Micky.' "Ah, Micky, do you know what your last name is?"
Micky shook his head. "Mike knows his, though. Luckily his license survived the accident."
"How long ago was this accident?" Davy asked, concerned about where this conversation was going.
"Ah… maybe ten years ago, now. Mike and I have been roaming around, living off what we can. We're originally from California, we think, or at least that is what Mike's license says."
"Do you remember anything from the accident?" Davy asked.
"Nope," Micky said plainly. "However, asking around, some think that if we see something familiar, our memory should come back."
"Excuse me," Jan said suddenly, appearing from the kitchen with a tray that had a bowl of soup on it. "Mr… uh,"
"Micky!" Hallie said happily.
"Mr. Micky," Jan said, "Are you hungry? I made some soup for you and your friend."
"Of course I'm hungry!" Micky said excitedly. "Mike and I haven't had a proper bite in forever."
Jan set the tray on Micky's lap and left. Davy sat down on the last available couch, where Sarah and Hallie happily joined him. Davy studied Micky's face over and over again. It couldn't be them, could it?
"What's your friend's name?" Davy asked, wrapping his arms around the girls.
"Robert Michael Nesmith," Micky said after swallowing some soup. "He likes to go by Mike, though."
"Alright, that's it," Davy said, standing up and scratching his shorter, yet more controlled beard. "I'm going to go have a shave then come back down here. PETER!"
"Daddy?! You're going to shave your beard and mustache?!" Sarah gasped. "Why?!"
Peter walked in from the kitchen, his coffee in his hands. "What is it Davy?"
"Come on, we're going to have a shave," Davy said, grabbing his arm and beginning his ascent up the stairs.
"I'm sorry?" Micky said, stopping the two men. "What's brought this on? Obviously your daughter doesn't want you to shave."
Davy turned around and looked Micky dead in the eye. It was definitely his eyes. He thought of the right words to say, but the inexpressible amount of grief and emotion building up inside him prevented Davy from speaking. He looked at Peter, teary-eyed. He then looked at the sleeping man on the other couch. With a shave and a haircut, that sure could be Mike. Davy took a deep breath, taking in all this information.
"Micky," Davy began. He could sense Peter go rigid. "Does the name Davy Jones mean anything to you?"
Micky thought about it for a second. "Isn't that a legend?"
Davy took another deep breath. It was going to take more than names to jog his memory. "What about Peter Tork, does that name mean anything to you?" Peter finally got it. He grabbed on to Davy's shoulder with a tight grip.
Micky thought about it again. "No, don't think so."
"Alright," Davy said. "Peter and I are going to go shave these beards off, then we'll ask you again. Groovy?"
"I don't understand," Micky said, concerned. Had this man just lost it? Davy and Peter ignored him, running upstairs.
Once in the bathroom, Peter grabbed Davy's shoulders. "That's Micky and Mike!"
"I know!" Davy whispered back.
"We found Micky and Mike!" Peter whispered excitedly.
"I know!" Davy whispered again.
"Why doesn't he recognize us?!" Peter asked.
"He said that he and Mike don't remember anything from before the accident. Everything they know about their past they had to get from the MonkeeMobile's wreckage. They've been living as hobos for the past ten years! I'm hoping something, anything about us will help them regain their memory."
"And that's why we're up here shaving, yeah?" Peter asked.
"Right," Davy said, handing Peter his razor. "Let's do this."
The other man began to groan. "Look Hallie! Mike's waking up!" Sarah said excitedly. Sarah jumped down from the couch and ran into the kitchen to tell her aunt that Mike was going to need some soup. Hallie jumped down as well, but planted herself right next to Mike. Mike groaned again and rolled over, slowly opening his eyes.
"AH!" Mike yelled when he saw the girl.
"AH!" Hallie screamed back, but then laughed. "This is fun!"
"What the-" Mike said, looking around. When he spotted Micky, he asked, "Where the hell are we?"
"Don't know," Micky said, "But they're taking care of us, so be nice!" Mike looked wide-eyed at the little girl, then at everything around them. "Little girl, where are we?"
"We're at my Aunt Marcia's cottage. Well, it's actually her dad's. My name is Hallie," Hallie held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Netmit."
"Nesmith," Mike instinctively corrected. "How do you know my name?"
"Micky told us!" Mike gave Micky a confused look concerning the new name.
"They gave me a new name," Micky explained. "Their fathers are crazy, though, so be careful around them."
"Yeah, I know they are," Hallie said innocently. "But that's why they're daddies."
Suddenly, Jan came in with another tray with soup. She smiled at the man who had regained consciousness. "Nice to see you awake, sir. My name's Jan Tork, care for some soup?" Mike graciously accepted the soup from the woman. As he began eat the soup, another woman came into the room, with another little girl in tow.
"See Mommy!" Sarah said excitedly.
"Hi," The woman said. "My name is Marcia, this is my daughter, Sarah."
"Mike Nesmith, ma'am." Mike introduced himself.
"Sarah, where's your father?" Jan asked.
"They're upstairs, shaving," Sarah said. "I don't know why, though. We have guests!"
"They're shaving?!" Jan and Marcia said together. They quickly ran upstairs together, leaving the girls with the two hobos.
"Davy! Peter!" Marcia yelled from the other side of the bathroom door. "What the hell are you doing?!"
Davy opened the door, his face half shaved. "Shaving and plotting, go away." He quickly shut the door.
"Davy, Peter. Open this door. Now," Jan threatened.
"No," Peter said from inside the bathroom. "We have this under control. Leave us be."
"Can you at least explain to your wives why you are doing this?" Marcia asked.
Davy opened the door again, looking at each wife in turn. "That's Mike and Micky down there. The Mike and Micky. Our old band mates, our old friends. They don't recognize us because they were in a car accident and have some form of amnesia. We plan on fixing that. That is why we are shaving." Davy slammed the door shut again.
Jan and Marcia rolled their eyes, but surrendered to their husbands' madness. They both walked downstairs, finding their daughters entertaining their guests with one of the stories Davy and Peter would tell the girls.
"And then Mike the Cobbler said, 'Oh man, isn't that the best girl I have ever saw!'' Sarah declared, slaughtering the line. "Then Micky the Innkeeper shoved a cloth in his mouth to shut him up. But anyway, so Princess Gwen came to the village, and Princess Gwen was a very mean woman-"
"Very mean," Hallie added.
"And her carriage got stuck in the mud. So Uncle Peter lied down in the mud so the princess could get out." Sarah continued.
Hallie cleared her throat. "Then the Princess said to Sir Harold, her boyfriend, 'YOU BETTER GET THIS CARRIAGE OUT OF THE MUD!' And she said it in this very man-like voice."
Sarah nodded in agreement. "And Sir Harold was like, 'Oh what a bummer.'"
Marcia interrupted the story. "Girls, how about you two go wash up for dinner, hm? Then after dinner we'll each open one present from under the tree."
"Okay!" The girls chirped, hopping from their spots and running to the kitchen to wash their hands.
"What imaginative girls you have," Mike said to the women.
"They get it from their fathers, really," Jan said. "So where are the two of you from?"
Mike shrugged. "Not quite sure. California, I think, according to my driver's license."
"We were in a car accident a long time ago," Micky explained. "That's as far back as we remember. We remember waking up next to this wrecked car, and we gathered as much as we could from it and left. So we're sorry if we can't answer your questions very well."
"It's okay," Marcia said, raising an eyebrow to Jan. "What have you two been doing since the accident?"
"Wandering," Mike said. "We survive off what we can. I get menial jobs here and there, just so we don't have to eat garbage at night, but it's never enough for us to stay in one spot for long."
"How did you two end up here, in Jackson?" Jan asked.
Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Like I said, wandering. We were caught in that storm out there, and we thought for sure we were going to die."
"If it wasn't for you guys, we would be," Micky added. "You guys saved our lives."
"Our husbands did, really," Marcia said. "They were the ones who went out and got the two of you," Marcia gave a stifled laugh. "You know, it's funny. Peter and Davy think you two are their old roommates."
"Roommates?" Mike asked, taking another spoonful of soup.
"Yeah," Jan added. "Before we met them, they were in a band called the Monkees. There were four of them. Two of them went to Texas to visit family and never returned."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Micky said, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of them. "It must be difficult for them to deal a loss like that. The girls said that they tell stories about them?"
"Of course, the Monkees are their favorite bedtime story," Marcia said. "I think, hands down, Micky is their favorite."
"Micky is everyone's favorite, Marcia." Jan said.
"Then I'm honored that the girls named me after such a loved character of theirs." Micky smiled his typical, goofy smile.
As if a stampede of elephants had arrived, Davy and Peter came trampling down the stairs, clean-shaven and eager to talk to Mike and Micky. They both nearly tripped when coming off the final step, but regained their balance by holding onto the couch that Mike was laying on. All four adults stared at them as if they were some freak show. Peter gave the group a nervous and embarrassed smile, whereas Davy stood and brushed himself off.
"How about now?" Davy asked the men. "Do we look familiar at all?" The two men stared at the other two with blank expressions. "Obviously not."
"Maybe we should sing something, Davy," Peter suggested. Peter walked back upstairs to grab his guitar. He came back down, tuning his guitar. "Which one do you think we should do?"
Davy massaged his wrists, trying to think of one. "What do you think? Should we do one of mine, or one of theirs?"
"Theirs. Maybe Clarksville?"
"Sure!" Davy plopped down next to Mike, only to get a whiff of the awful body odor and scooch a little farther away from the smelly hobo.
During 'Last Train to Clarksville,' Sarah and Hallie re-entered, sitting next to their mothers while their fathers performed the timeless classic. When they were done, Davy and Peter looked on eagerly for Micky and Mike to remember the song. The two men clapped, happy to hear the song.
"Wow, that was great!" Micky smiled. "I wish I could sing as good as you, do, Mr… I'm sorry, I don't think you two have been properly introduced."
"You could sing as well as I could?!" Davy said, almost outraged. He stood and marched over to the cocooned man, getting in his face. "That's your song, Micky! God! What is it going to take?!"
"Davy, dear, calm down," Marcia said, getting up and pulling Davy away. "Maybe start from the beginning and explain why you two are acting like mad men." Davy took a deep breath. "Now Jan and I are going to take the girls into the kitchen so they can help us set up the table for dinner. Mr. Nesmith, Micky, are you two still hungry?"
"Yes ma'am," Micky replied, trying to avoid eye contact with the crazed men.
"The we'll set a place for you two as well. Come on girls," Marcia said. Marcia and Jan took the girls into the kitchen, leaving the four old Monkees alone.
"Alright, from the beginning then," Peter mused, sitting down on the couch that the women had just vacated. "My name is Peter Tork."
"My name is Davy Jones," Davy added. "And we swear that you two are our old bandmates."
"Are we?" Mike asked.
"Yes! Yes you are," Davy gasped. "We all lived in this little beach house out on the coast in Malibu, California. We were a struggling rock band, starving everyday because no one would hire us."
"We had this mean landlord named Mr. Babbitt and all these nice neighbors. We also made fantastic music," Peter said. "After you guys disappeared, I kept all your music, Mike, and we made thousands off it."
"Yeah, Peter and I were able to start a record business and helped your music become known by making that a requirement in the record deal." Davy continued. "We did it all in honor of the two of you. George Michael Dolenz and Robert Michael Nesmith, the lost Monkees. We even have a plaque in our lobby that says the place is dedicated to you two."
"We used to go on crazy adventures," Peter added. "Like one time, we were hired by the CIA to catch some Russian spies."
"And another time we were hired to be extras in a beach movie, and we ended up making the lead star quit, so you guys made me audition for the lead role, which drove me to a state of high ego and Catalina-Disease."
"Catalina-Disease?" Micky asked.
"Yeah, you made up that name," Davy said.
"I'm sorry, guys," Mike said, shaking his head. "None of this is ringing a bell. I wish it did."
Davy groaned, throwing his head into his hands. "What must we do to get you two to remember us?"
Suddenly, there was a faint siren piercing the agonizing air of the room. Davy looked up from his hands, concerned. "What the hell?"
"Davy, that's the storm warning," Peter said. "Nothing to worry about."
Suddenly, there was a huge banging coming from outside. Davy and Peter both sprang up, going towards the noise. It sounded like it was coming from the backyard. They looked out the window to see one of the larger trees tipping towards the cottage.
"Uh oh," Davy muttered.
"Everyone get into the cars!" Peter yelled, grabbing the wives and pushing them out of the kitchen. Davy scooped up the girls into his arms as well. "That tree is going to fall!"
"What?!" Mike asked, standing as the two families rushed to the front door and out of the house. Micky and Mike didn't leave the house.
Peter quickly popped his head into the house. "What are you two doing standing there?! Get out of here!" Mike and Micky looked at each other, and without a second thought, they ran towards Peter, out the doors.
The wind was hell. It was difficult to walk in the snow and the wind. They could hardly see the black and blue cars sitting in the driveway. They could hardly see Davy and Peter frantically brushing off all the snow, even though the storm just replaced the snow seconds later. The wives and children were in the running cars. Mike and Micky began helping the two men brush off their cars. After a few minutes, and the cracking of the tree increasing, Davy declared that they had done enough, it was time to get out of there. They all piled into cars, but when they tried to move, the snow prevented them from doing so. That's when Mike and Micky got a clever, but ungodly stupid idea.
Without permission, they both got out of the car and began pushing on the cars. Davy and Peter got out as well, asking their wives to take the wheel. They did so, and soon Mike and Micky were pushing on Peter's car, and Davy and Peter were pushing on Davy's car. After fruitless minutes of work, the cars finally stormed out of the driveway and onto the road.
"Guys, hurry!" Marcia screamed from the car. Davy and Peter ran towards the cars, but stopped when they noticed Mike and Micky were not. The two men were sitting in the snow, struggling to breathe. They were not strong enough to have done that.
"Micky, Mike, come on!" Davy yelled, trudging through the snow with Peter to their old friends.
Mike shook his head frantically. "We… We can't." Micky even flopped into the snow. "Go on without us…" Mike smiled up at Peter and Davy. "Go save your families, guys."
"You guys are our family," Peter explained. "We're not leaving without you, come on!" Peter grabbed onto Micky's arm and pulled him up. Micky was already unconscious.
Mike suddenly laughed. "I know we are, but you have to go. That tree is going to crash any minute."
Davy had already begun dragging Micky through the snow. Peter began to do the same with Mike, despite his protests. However, they were too late. The tree fell, destroying the house, causing parts of the house to bury the four men in the wreckage.
"David!" Marcia wailed, trying to make her way over to the collapsed cabin.
"Marcia!" Jan yelled pulling her back.
"Jan, let me go!" Marcia yelled tugging her arm out of Jan's grip. She lost her balance and fell into the deepening snow. Jan wadded over and helped her up.
"Marcia, we can't… We have the children to think about, we need to go. We'll drive to the nearest house and call 9-1-1. There's nothing we can do," Jan tried to persuade her.
Marcia took a deep breath and cried, "We can't just leave them here!"
"Marcia, we need to go!" Jan pulled her towards Davy's car and shoved her in the driver's seat. She slammed the door shut and got into her husband's. She knew very well Marcia never handled situations well. Jan pulled out and began to drive away, Marcia following her with both girls in her car. As soon as they reached the nearest cabin, Jan got out and knocked on the door, begging to use their phone. After explaining what had happened, the couple who lived in the cabin let her in to use the phone.
The couple who lived in the cabin, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, allowed the children to stay with them while Jan and Marica took Davy's car back to their cabin to wait for the ambulance and police. When they got there, both women got out and began to try and dig through the rubble, but it was too heavy for either of them. So they sat in the car, waiting. Soon the authorities arrived and dug the four men out, taking them to the hospital for treatment.